Resurrection
by InaereiShadowsong
Summary: As a sacrificial girl to the gods, Anastasia avoided the subject of her future. Little does she know, the Fates have something bigger planned for her than a sacrificial death. In the little time left she has, Anastasia will discover that in a devastating war between the all powerful immortals, a seemingly insignificant mortal existence has the power to decide the victor.


CHAPTER 1—DIVINE VISITATIONS

Anastasia tip toed to the door leading to her kitchen, holding up the skirts of her long blue dress. Her elder sister, Roxanna, had a growth spurt a month before—shooting up about six inches. As the second daughter of a family with four children, Anastasia was handed down all the clothes that Roxanna outgrew. Stifling a yawn, she peeked into the kitchen then quickly drew her head back.

"Hmm, was that the beautiful blue eyes of my Anastasia?" a voice mused from the kitchen.

Anastasia let her shoulders drop but smiled at her father as she entered the kitchen. It has been the same game she, her father and older brother, Otis, have been playing; who can wake up the earliest. "Father, the sun has not even come up yet. How are you and Otis fully awake?"

Her father and brother were getting ready to leave, as they do almost every morning; her father, to the village plaza and her brother to the woods. Her father, Phineas, was their village's best blacksmith. Like most other blacksmiths, he was a muscular man with large rough hands. He had warm green eyes and wavy black hair that reached to his shoulders. He has a beard which he had learned to trim down in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the youngest of his children, Niome, from pulling on it. He was wearing his brown _chiton_; fabric pinned at the shoulders by brooches and went down to his knees. A length of rope tied around the waist kept the _chiton_ close to his body and away from the fires he worked with.

Phineas stood and embraced his daughter, lifting her up as she laughed. "Anastasia, whatever happened to greeting your father a good morning before questions?"

"Good morning, Father," Anastasia said when Phineas put her down. "Good morning to you, too, Otis."

Otis smiled fondly at her. "Good morning, dear sister," he said then leaned down and planted a kiss on top of her head. Otis was tall for his age of twenty-three with the same black hair as their father and blue eyes of their mother. As the eldest child, he was very patient. Anastasia felt closer to him than either of her sisters. He was there to take her around the village, helped her pick out her first horse and taught her how to read and write. He was one of the best trackers in their village and, along with his handsome face, attracted lots of attention from the girls around their village. However, Otis has turned down many of the marriage proposals he has been offered.

"Are you going hunting today?" asked Anastasia, looking up to her brother.

Otis ruffled her hair affectionately; making strands of it cover her face. "As I do almost every morning. And no," he added when Anastasia opened her mouth, "you cannot come."

Phineas chuckled. "Still asking your brother to take you to the woods, eh? Why would you want to go there? It's no place for a lady."

Anastasia blew her hair away from her face. "Well, I am running out of interesting pictures to paint on my jars." Of all the activities that their mother, Charis, had taught her, it was jar painting that became her favorite. However, pottery was not her strong suite but it was Roxanne's. Between the two sisters, beautiful pieces of clay pottery painted in exquisite detail were in every home of their small coastal village of Sappho.

"What do you usually paint?" her father asked.

"Usually plants and animals. Sometimes I would try painting portraits of people in our village but on them but they turn out as fishy looking fellows with abnormally large noses."

Otis chuckled. "Abnormally large noses are common in our fair village."

Phineas looked at his daughter thoughtfully. "For the past couple days, every morning, a story teller comes to the plaza and depicts tales of heroes and gods. Do you remember the ones I have told you?"

Identical smiles appeared on Otis's and Anastasia's faces. "The myth of Gaea, the Titans and the birth of the gods," Otis reminisced.

"Oh, I loved that tale," Anastasia exclaimed, clasping her hands together. "It took three very large jars and four days to paint the birth of the gods and their rise to power by overthrowing the Titans."

"Did the gods in your painting have abnormally large noses?" Otis teased.

Anastasia flushed. "Of course not! I cannot paint faces of those who are before me. I have never seen any of the gods; therefore I try to imagine faces for them. And those faces turn out perfectly proportional."

"Alright, that's enough," Phineas laughed. "Anastasia, you should go see and listen to the storyteller today. He usually comes out half an hour past noon in the plaza. Today is his last day here and I heard that he was telling many different tales today."

"Will you be back by then?" Anastasia asked Otis hopefully.

Otis sighed. "Sorry, Anastasia maybe—" a knock on the door interrupted her brother. "That's probably your friend, why don't you go answer the door?"

Anastasia was already out of the kitchen before her brother even finished talking. She raced to the front door and almost collided with her elder sister. "Anastasia! Do be careful," Roxanne yawned. "What are doing up so early anyways?"

"I can ask you the same. The sun hasn't even come up yet," Anastasia breathed as she reached for the door.

"Well, my sculpture of Hephaestus for father's shop should be done by now. I'm just going to check on it." Roxanne yawned again then padded down the hallway. Even though she had just woken up, her golden curls of hair flawlessly cascaded down her back. Roxanna was a tall and slender young woman with pale skin and a pretty face. Anastasia has always thought she was beautiful and so did the many suitors that came to their home in hopes to woo her.

Anastasia consciously stroked her black hair then opened the door. "Well, it took you a while," their guest chuckled on the door.

Anastasia rolled her eyes. "If my father had opened the door, your greeting would have been different. I could always close the door in your face, Iason."

He placed a large hand on the door, realizing that she was serious. "That won't be necessary." He smiled at her and stepped into their home. Iason was the youngest in Otis's hunting group. He was tall with tousled dark blonde, almost brown, hair and sea green eyes. Like her older brother, he was tanned from all the hunting trips they took in morning and sometimes in the afternoon. He was wearing the same _chiton_ as Otis; brown with rips and tears near the bottom. He had a bow in his hands and quiver full of arrows on his back. He and Anastasia have been friends for as long as she can remember. Her mother often told her of how Iason, only a year old, was there when she was born and never left her side; always playing with her hair, her father would add.

Anastasia closed the door and led Iason into the kitchen. "Your hair is reaching to your knees. Isn't it too long?" Iason asked, picking up one of the black waves of hair on her shoulder.

"No, it's fine. I can always put it up." Anastasia swatted his hand away. Iason chuckled and greeted her father and brother—they had stopped talking abruptly when Anastasia and Iason came in.

"Where are Melampus and Sotarios?" Otis asked Iason.

"They said they would meet us in the woods. They mentioned something about a visit to Poseidon's shrine," Iason replied.

"That's right," Phineas grunted as he shouldered a large satchel of what the gods only knew of. "Winter is upon us. The fish wouldn't be coming close to the surface. We must also pray to the gods that our fishermen's nets will be full until the first days of winter herself."

Anastasia never liked winter, especially in their village. The waves were stronger and would sometimes flood their mother's garden. The snow made the trek to the village very tricky and dangerous.

A small crack of light appeared on the horizon. "It looks like Apollo's chariot has begun its journey," she said. "Shouldn't all of you be gone by now?"

"Does Anastasia not want us in her home?" Iason said in mock offense. "I am hurt! I could only imagine what her father and brother feel."

Phineas laughed. "You are right, my daughter. It is also time for you to wake your mother and sisters. Let's get going boys!" Her father led the way to the door, followed by his children and Iason.

Iason pulled gently at one of Anastasia's curls. "Every morning for the past few days, there's this story teller—"

"At the plaza, I know," Anastasia said as she reclaimed the lock of her hair. "Father told me about it. He says that the story teller comes an hour after noon. Will you be back by then?"

Iason thought for a moment. "I should, unless your brother wants an extended hunting trip. He already has plans to help out the fishermen after hunting though."

"Iason!" Otis called from the front door. "We are wasting daylight!"

"Pray to the gods that we may bring home a bountiful of food," Iason whispered to Anastasia then pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head.

"May Artemis bless you, my brother, Melampus and Sotarios on your hunt," Anastasia replied then pulled away. "Now go. I must wake Mother and Niome."

"Don't forget Roxanne," Iason reminded as Anastasia pushed him towards the front door.

"She's up already," Anastasia muttered then shoved him out the door where Phineas and Otis were waiting. "See you soon!"

The three men waved back at her as they trudged down the rocky path from their home near the cliff. They had had few neighbors and the village was about a ten minute walk from their home. Charis often worried about the distance and isolation of their home. Anastasia never understood why her mother would refer to their home as isolated when there were neighbors at walking distance.

Anastasia closed the door behind her then bounded up the stairs to the room she shared with her sisters. Little Niome was asleep on one of the hammock beds—soft yet strong and large fabrics that their father hung the rafters for them to sleep on—and Roxanne was collapsed on another. Where Otis and Anastasia looked alike—unruly and wavy black hair, ocean blue eyes, thicker built and tanner—Roxanne and Niobe had very noticeable similarities; golden curls, green eyes and slender with pale skin.

"Niome," Anastasia whispered as she shook the ten-year-old awake. "Time to wake up."

Niome grumbled and buried her face into her pillow. "She is always the hardest to wake."

Anastasia whirled around and found her mother standing on the door way. It was from her that Niome and Roxanne inherited their beauty, and Otis and Anastasia their eyes. She was a beautiful woman and the best healer of their town. As a lady of Asclepius's, the god of medicine and healing, and son of Apollo himself, temple, she knows the best ways to cure most of the illnesses that their village has encountered. "What are you doing up so early? Trying wake before your father and brother?"

"Yes, mother," Anastasia said sheepishly. Charis held herself with such respect and pride enough to make Anastasia to feel foolish with her hair a tangled mess and wrinkled robes. "Though it proves to be a challenge to wake before a blacksmith and a tracker."

"Well, they are working men after all," her mother said softly and glided beside her. Charis placed a palm on Niome's cheek then moved it to her shoulder. "Niome, my dear daughter, it is time to wake."

Niome stirred then her eyes fluttered open. "Mother? Sister? Must I wake now? Can I not have another moment's sleep?"

"No, my dear, the day has begun." Charis shook Niome's shoulder one last time then glided by her eldest daughter's bed.

"She was awake earlier, Mother," Anastasia said, rising to her feet. "She had wanted to know how her sculpture of Hephaestus had turned out."

Charis chuckled and stroked Roxanne's hair. "She is very fond of her sculptures—as she should be for they are quite remarkable much like your paintings." Anastsasia blushed. She had always respected her mother and strives to earn her approval. "Though," Charis sighed, "I wish she would find a suitable man."

"Mother, she is only nineteen. She has plenty of years left and a happy life to live," Anastasia mumbled, swallowing a lump on her throat. Tears stung at her eyes.

"As do you, my dear Anastasia," Chairs whispered and gathered the girl into her arms. "Never you fear, your life is yours to command."

Anastasia relished her mother's warmth. She knew that she was lying, that she was only saying those things to comfort her but they were far from the truth. Her life was limited. Anastasia knows exactly how many days until her heart will cease to beat, when she would see the sunrise for the last time, when she will walk this land as a mortal. Anastasia shook her head and refused to think of it any further.

Her mother smiled longingly down at her. "Now, let's get you ready so you may go the village with Iason later."

* * *

"Otis! Iason! Well it's about time!" Melampus exclaimed. "And here I thought Sotarios and I would be in Elysium before the two of you made an appearance."

Iason let out a laugh as he and Otis joined the other two by the woods. "Devils like you? You've got a bigger chance going into Tartarus."

Sotarios punched him in the arm. Though he was two years older than Iason, he stood two inches shorter with curly orange hair. Melampus on the other hand was very tall, towering over the rest of them with his lanky frame. He had a constant grin on his face and silver hair—quite peculiar for his young age of twenty.

"What took the two of you?" asked Sotarios. "Iason too busy flirting with your sister?"

Dread tightened around Iason's throat. He quickly fought it down. It was his turn to throw the punch. "What about you and Roxanne? Besides, she is my friend. I do not court my friends. Am I not allowed to spend time with my friends?"

Something flickered in Otis's eyes. It was brief, enough to make Iason believe he had imagined it. "Let's get moving," Otis said, herding them into the woods. "Time waits for neither man nor god."

Seven years ago was the first time that Iason went hunting; the first time that he had earned the respect of his fellow villagers with his bow. In those seven years, the four of them became brothers and, through the lead of Otis, have brought lots of game back to their small village. They had a method of their own as they hunted. Once one of them has recognized a target, Otis will track it. Once found, Sotarios and Melampus would approach it, taunting it as Iason shot at it from a distance. When it is too weak to fight back, either Sotarios or Melampus would deliver the finishing blow. That was their routine for the past seven years, that is, until today.

"Warthog straight ahead," Otis muttered. He jerked his chin forward, signaling for the rest to move. Sotarios and Melampus stalked forward, staying in the cover of the shadows. The warthog itself was munching on something they couldn't see. Its rump faced them. It was small for a warthog, only coming up to Iason's waist—any bigger, they would have abandoned it. _Artemis, Mistress of Animals and goddess of the hunt, I pray to you in asking for blessing in our hunt today_, Iason prayed in his mind.

Otis started clicking his tongue, confusing the animal as Iason crushed leaves on his hand and chest. After making sure he was facing the wind so that the warthog won't catch his scent, he scaled a tree and settled on a branch concealed by the leaves. His green eyes immediately found his friends. The animal itself was getting wary from Otis's clicking. Iason saw Melampus and Sotarios signal each other then jump out of hiding, brandishing their large hunting knives. _An agitated animal is less dangerous than an enraged one,_ Melampus often reminded him.

The warthog let out a shriek of surprise. Otis quickened the tempo of his clicking as Sotarios and Melampus started whooping, creating a cacophony to confuse the animal. _Apollo, he who strikes far with a bow, lead my arrow,_ Iason prayed as he loaded his bow. Iason aimed, waiting for an opening. Melampus jumped forward and stabbed at its hind leg. The warthog reared up to face him. As it turned, Iason released the arrow. Before it hit its target, the warthog's eye, Iason had another arrow ready. Every time Sotarios or Melampus took a stab at the animal, Iason would shoot an arrow and Otis would quicken his clicks. Moments later, the warthog fell with six arrows sticking out of it. Its side rose and fell quickly. Otis walked forwards and kneeled beside it as Iason jumped down from his perch. Otis murmured a prayer and silenced the warthog.

"Excellent shooting as always," Sotarios said as Iason approached them. "Apollo has blessed you, hasn't he?"

"I like to think so," Iason chuckled. Something thudded behind him.

"Iason!" Melampus yelled.

Iason turned and grabbed an arrow but it was too late. His fingers brushed against the feathers of an arrow but something knocked the breath out of him. Whatever it was lifted Iason into the air and never stopped running. Iason was doubled over something hard and was bouncing violently on it as it ran. Suddenly it stopped and he went flying into the air. He landed in a heavy thud on the ground. Leaves crackled underneath him as he pushed himself up in a sitting position, groaning painfully. The sound of hooves and flapping wings came from either side of him.

"Is this the right one?" the voice of a woman asked, soft yet demanding respect—reminding Iason greatly of Anastasia's mother.

Another woman answered her—this one was more proud and cold. "It was hard to tell. There were two in their group that prayed to me."

_Prayed?_ Iason looked around him for the two women but all he could see was a stag with an owl perched on its antlers. The stag was as tall as him—he assumed that it had picked him up and carried him with his antlers—and the owl was abnormally large with stunning grey eyes. "Grey eyes?" Iason rasped, staring at the large bird.

Iason couldn't believe his eyes—did the owl smile with its beak? "It would seem that he is realizing something. Is he one of the three?"

"Well, he doesn't seem like much," the stag seemed to say.

Iason couldn't believe his eyes. "Talking animals?"

The deer scoffed, shaking its head—Iason took a step back to avoid its antlers. "Men, always the close minded ones in every species."

"Is that why you bless each of his hunts?" The owl asked slyly. The deer scoffed but didn't reply.

"Wait, bless our hunts?" Iason gasped.

The two animals smiled. Iason blinked and the owl disappeared. Instead, a beautiful woman stood before him. She had grey eyes with brown hair that fell straight down to her waist. She was wearing a long dress with various folds and ruffles that must have been beautiful but it was covered up by something Iason thought he would never see on a woman so beautiful; golden armor covered in designs of vines. The face of an owl dominated the center of the armor. She also wore a golden helmet with grand golden wings coming out of the sides. In her hand was a bronze spear and a shield was visible on her back. "Yes, young boy, I am Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare."

"And I am the goddess of the hunt and forests, Artemis," the woman with the more abrasive voice exclaimed. Iason blinked again and the stag disappeared and was replaced by an equally beautiful woman. She had auburn hair tied on the back of her head and steely golden eyes. She was dressed in a green short _chiton,_ leather sandals with brown arm guards. A sliver bow was in her hands and silver arrows winked at Iason from behind her back.

Iason gulped and stared at the two goddesses before him—beautiful, ageless, powerful. Athena had a curious and calculating look on her eyes—as if figuring out how his mind work and what he will do next—while Artemis stared at him challengingly and with amusement. Iason bowed his head. "Goddesses Athena and Artemis, it is an honor to meet you."

"The boy has manners," Artemis observed, mildly impressed.

"You seem surprised about that," Athena replied. "Iason, there is something important that we must tell you and we don't have much time."

Iason's head reeled. He can barely believe the fact that two gods were standing before him. "But you are _gods, _don't you have all the time you could possibly want? And if it's something important, with all due respect, shouldn't you find someone—I don't know, more, well, more than me?"

"We don't have time for your questions," Artemis said impatiently and reached behind her. She grabbed an arrow and tossed it at Iason. "You are going to need that, but use it wisely. Once shot, you won't be able to get it back. This arrow will do nothing to mortals for it is meant to be used against immortal enemies."

"Immortal enemies?" Iason gasped. "But we don't have a minotaur or other creatures running about near our village—" Iason shut his mouth at the sad look Athena was giving him. "Something's going to happen, isn't it?"

Artemis sighed heavily and, to Iason's surprise, looked vulnerable instead of proud. "Unfortunately. There are forces far beyond our power that are stirring."

"What's going to happen to Anastasia?" Iason blurted.

Artemis stared at him curiously then glanced at Athena who answered his question. "Her time will come sooner than you think."

"What—? She's got two more years!" Iason practically screamed. "That's barely enough for a life and now you are saying that she haven't even that much?"

"Iason! Where have you gone?" Iason heard Melampus call far behind him. He could also faintly hear Sotarios and Otis calling his name as well.

Artemis frowned. "I hope you know when to use and to whom you should aim for when you use that arrow."

"Remember, Iason. Even if the Fates tell you the future, its secrets will never be revealed to you until the time comes," Athena warned.

"There you are." Iason whirled around to find Sotarios struggling over a couple bushes and almost fall to the ground. Melampus and Otis appeared behind him.

"Where have you been? And where did that blasted deer go?" Melampus growled impatiently.

Iason looked over his shoulders to where the two goddesses were standing but they were gone. Iason, who had exceptional hearing from all his years of hunting, heard nothing of their departure. Nor were there any indications on the ground of their presence—no footprints or disturbed leaves or twigs. None that Otis appeared to have noticed either.

"Iason," Otis said softly after helping Sotarios back on his feet. "You are looking rather pale, did something happen?"

Iason shook his head. Somehow he doubted they would believe the truth. However, he was so tempted to tell Otis of what Athena had said of Anastasia. But how on earth can he tell a loving brother like Otis something like that? "Nothing. It—the deer really hit me hard."

"Where did you get that arrow?" asked Sotarios.

Iason stared at the projectile in his hands. He was mildly surprised to find that it was not the same silver color of the arrows that Artemis had in her quiver. It was black with a golden head point and a pattern of golden wings on them. Iason ran his fingers against the cool black stem and the fine gold feathers at the end. He could feel the power pulsing within. He couldn't imagine a situation that would require this gift from the goddess Artemis—he hoped he didn't have to use it. "I—uh, found it when I came to. I have no idea where the deer went. I was knocked out when it hit me," Iason lied.

Otis raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. Melampus, as usual, broke the silence. "Well, you're still breathing and have working legs; you can help us carry the warthog we left behind to find you back to the village."

* * *

_Two more years_, Anastasia thought to herself as she finished painting the wheel of a golden chariot on a large pot about her size. Roxanne was busy on the other side of their work room, molding another lump of reddish clay into another masterpiece. Their work room was really an added room that their father built just for them. He said that we had to luck of the gods for it. One day, when Phineas was walking home, he overheard an old potter had passed away and his family was giving away most of his tools and equipment. Phineas jumped at the chance and spent another three days building the workroom for his daughters.

Anastasia collected the colors she needed for the rest of the picture she had in mind—Apollo, the sun god, sitting by his chariot and playing with lyre that Hermes had presented to him as a gift. Ever since her father had told her about the war between the Titans and the Olympians, Anastasia had found herself fascinated about their myths as well as the epics of their demigod children who became heroes. She prayed to them many times and to different ones—to Hephaestus for her father, the blacksmith; to Aphrodite for her sister to find love; to Asclepius for her mother, the village healer; to Apollo and Artemis for her brother and Iason on their hunts; to Poseidon for the fishermen folk of their village. She always wanted to meet one but then she would remember the story of her grandfather and she would begin to fear them.

Anastasia's grandfather, the father of Charis, was not an honest man. Her mother had the look of disgust when she told her about him, followed by a look of grief and loss for it was the same story that led to her daughter's curse. Anastasia's grandfather, when he was young, was a strong and rash lover. Unfortunately, the girl that claimed his heart was by no means kind and happened to be the granddaughter of a respected man. One day, the girl, out of boredom, released all the horses from the stables. The horses ran rampant on the streets of their small and growing village. Some of the men, out of panic, began to shoot arrows at the horses. Anastasia's grandfather had run out that night to look for his beloved horse that he grew up with.

When he found his beloved horse, it was bucking wildly and neighing fearfully. As he ran to the horse, the girl of his heart appeared out of nowhere. The horse had started to chase her and immediately cornered her. The girl was shaking violently. _My father had tried to help her but, as I said before, she was by no means kind hearted_, her mother had said. _From her dress, she produced a sword and drove it through the horse's skull. It devastated your grandfather so much and he cursed the girl a terrible death._

Anastasia's hand flinched, sending a streak of blue over Apollo's face that wasn't supposed to be blue. Anastasia frustratingly muttered to herself and grabbed the white paint. Although she had only heard the story of her grandfather once, she remembered her mother's words perfectly. This was the part of the story that sent chills running down her spine.

The curse her grandfather had said was horrible enough to catch the attention of the Erinyes—her mother had also called them Furies, the deities of vengeance. Her mother had described them as three bare women with pale white skin and feathers sprouting in their hair. She had also said their arms were replaced with leathery tattered bat wings and snakes circled around their waists. The Erinyes followed Anastasia's grandfather all the way to his home. There they grabbed him and was about to drag him to Tartarus when his mother begged and prayed to Hades to forgive his foolishness.

_Miraculously,_ her mother told her, _they did let him go but it did not end there. Minutes later, someone knocked on their door. My father was being comforted by his mother so my grandfather went to open the door. When he did, he immediately fell to his knees as a woman stepped into their home. My father told me the woman was both beautiful and terrifying—even for a goddess. You see, it was Persephone who came into their home that night. She looked at my father and said, 'You curse a girl to death for a horse? A curse so terrible, that it called the attention of my husband, the Lord of the Dead? You must be punished. She was the second granddaughter of a proud grandfather and a good man. You, however, are not a good man. I curse your second granddaughter in the same way that you have cursed that girl. Your granddaughter will suffer the same curse you put on the girl, at the same age as well. Your blood will suffer on her eighteenth birthday. A suffering worthy of my husband's pity will curse her last moments in this world.'_

Then, Anastasia's mother would stop talking. It didn't matter what her grandfather did next—Ananstasia was shaking by then. Her mother had told her that story years ago but it still scares her today. Charis was an only child. And Anastasia was her second daughter—the same one who received Persephone's curse of death on her eighteenth birthday.

"Two years," Anastasia muttered to herself.

"Anastasia?" Roxanne whispered, making Anastasia jump. "I heard you muttering to yourself," —Anastasia felt guilty and wandered how much her sister had heard—"and, well, it is your birthday tomorrow isn't it?"

Anastasia forced a smile. "So it would seem." The fact that she was limited to only eighteen birthdays always seemed to invade her mind every time a birthday came around. She had learned to hide her misery by the time she was twelve and plastered happiness on her face for her family and her few friends.

"Well," Roxanne said and smiled at her—a flash pain passed through her beautiful green eyes, "you did not hear this from me, but Mother may, or may not, be planning a big dinner with all your favorites for tonight."

"Isn't it tonight a bit early for a birthday dinner that is supposed to happen tomorrow?"

"It may not happen at all—She may, or may not, be planning after all. And who's to say she hasn't got something laid out for tomorrow?"

Anastasia smiled to her elder sister. "And of course I am not hearing this from you at all."

"Of course not."

Anastasia gasped. "You are blushing!"

Roxanne winced and turned away but not before Anastasia caught sight of a small grin. "No I am not! What in all of Greece are you going on about?"

"Is someone coming for dinner tomorrow?" Anastasia inquired, hanging onto her sister's arm. "Or maybe tonight?"

Roxanne turned her face away but the blushed reached all the way to her ears. "No, no one. I—it's nothing."

"Oh come now, don't give me any of that," Anastasia demanded.

"Any of what?" asked a small voice behind them.

The two girls turned to see their younger sister staring curiously at them. An idea formed in Anastasia's head. "Niome, I've got great news!"

Roxanne gave her a wary look as Anastasia wrapped her arms around Niome. "Niome, I believe that our dear elder sister has been wooed by a man."

Niome gasped and wrapped her arms around Anastasia. "Is it true? Oh Roxanne, is it true?"

Roxanne stared back at her younger sisters who were gazing at her with big, eager eyes. She bit her lip but Anastasia can tell from the raising of the corners of her mouth that she was stifling a smile—and failing at it.

"Well, tell us who it is," Anastasia encouraged with Niome nodding eagerly beside her.

"Is it that obvious?" Roxanne sighed.

"That you are interested in a young man? Yes," Niome answered. "Well, to your sisters anyways."

"But as to who," Anastasia added, "well, the anticipation is not doing good things to me and Niome."

"Oh, alright," Roxanne sighed, trying to be frustrated but couldn't help the wide smile on her face. "Yes, I have chosen a suitor."

"Sotarios!" Anastasia and Niome cried then fell to their knees in laughter at their sister's face.

"How—how did you…?" Roxanne stuttered.

"Ay-son," Niome said slowly, always seemed unable to pronounce Iason's name, "hinted something about Sotarios going on and on about you."

"Then there's also the not-so-small blush that dominates your face whenever he comes by," Anastasia giggled.

Roxanne flushed then regained her composure. "He proposed to me this morning,"—she bit her lip then burst into a smile—"and I said yes!"

Three sisters squealed together until their mother came in. "What is this?"

"Sotarios proposed to Roxanne and she said yes," Anastasia exclaimed immediately.

Charis smiled widely. "Is that true, Roxanne? My eldest daughter, finally accepting a hand in marriage?"

Roxanne nodded eagerly and ran to embrace her mother.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," a voice said by the door.

The four of them turned to see Iason lounging against the doorframe. Anastasia immediately knew there was something bothering him. He looked nonchalant but she could see the lines of tension on his shoulder and the look on his eyes did not match the smile he flashed at them. However, Anastasia knew better than to mention it in front of her family, especially when they were so happy.

Anastasia plastered a smile on her face. "How was the hunt?"

A shadow passed over his face—it was brief but Anastasia saw it—and she knew that something had happened. "It was fine," he mumbled.

Anastasia shifted comfortably. "Mother, Iason and I are going to see the storyteller by the plaza."

Charis nodded. "Be careful."

Anastasia led Iason out of their house and to the village. She knew that something was definitely bothering her friend because he let her lead the way and stayed silent the whole time—usually it would be the other way around. But Anastasia knew better than to bombard him with questions. She stayed silent and waited as Iason's mood became safe enough to talk with. The last time she pushed her with questions after a failed hunt, he didn't talk to her for a week.

They passed by different vendors on the way to the plaza—Anastasia made sure to stop by the blacksmith to see her father—each one selling different things from _chitons_ to fried foods. Anastasia eyed a large warthog cooking slowly over a fire. She was about to ask Iason if he and her brother had hunted it but one look at his troubled face told her he wouldn't talk.

They found the story teller in the middle of an epic telling of the creation of man—Prometheus created mankind from clay in the Golden Age. Then he told of the birth of the twin gods, Apollo and Artemis, from Zeus and Leto—spiteful Hera had made it hard for Leto to give birth to them. He followed that story with the creation of the Titans, the parental generation of the gods. It was in the middle of his last story, the creation of the Olympian gods, did Melampus appear beside Iason. His peculiar silver hair seemed to glow next to Iason's dark golden locks.

Melampus grinned at them both but Iason stayed in his sour mood. "I heard the good news," Melampus whispered. "Sotarios finally proposed?"

Anastasia nodded. "How did you know about it?"

Melampus smiled as if he knew something about the subject that she didn't. He probably did too but Anastasia let it go when another audience member of the storyteller's turned to glare at them. That glare, however, turned to a look of pity once he realized he was glaring at Anastasia. The whole village knew of her curse, and though they opted not to directly talk to her about it, they did give her a look of pitying and it would only make her feel worse.

Iason snapped out of his trance enough to pull Anastasia between him and Melampus as they walked to somewhere they were welcome to talk without distracting others. Iason was one of the few people that didn't look at Anastasia as if she was a sacrificial girl to the gods. And she was grateful to him for that. He and Otis—Sotarios and Melampus too, if they were nearby—often protected her from the pitying glances of others and did what they could to distract her from them.

Anastasia took this opportunity to ask Iason if something had happened during the hunt but it was Melampus who answered. "He's just upset that a stag—a great big one, mind you— knocked the wind out of him and he didn't even notice."

The way Melampus laughed as he explained would convince others that he was joking but Anastasia knew better. She glanced at Iason. Though he was nodding in agreement with what Melampus was saying, Iason still looked distracted, as if the attacking deer was the last thing he was thinking about.

"Where have my brother and Sotarios run off too?" Anastasia asked.

"Otis is helping out the fishers as usual and I have a hunch that Sotarios is paying pilgrimage to his new fiancé," Melampus stated with an air philosophy. "Shall we go see the happy couple?"

"Yes, let's," Anastasia agreed glad to have someone to talk to while Iason kept his silence.

They made their way to the edge of the village where the buildings were more separated and less people were in the streets. Melampus led the way, telling a ridiculous story of how he met a talking python a couple years ago, telling him that he shall tell of an epic that he has yet to experience himself and that he would know the hero personally. He then explained that it threw a silver laurel wreath upon his head where it melted upon his crown and melted to his hair, changing its color.

"And that, my dear, Anastasia, is why my locks are peculiar hue that they are," Melampus finished proudly.

Anastasia rolled her eyes but found the story entertaining. "Is that true? Is that really how your hair turned silver?"

"According to my uncle, yes. It used to be as black as the night sky—very much like yours—until I met the python."

"What did the python look like?" Anastasia asked, imagining how she can paint Melampus's story in one of her pots. She gathered the long skirts of her _chiton_ as the path began to slope upwards to the cliff top of her home.

"I'm not exactly sure. I don't remember because my uncle claimed it happened such a long time ago. Perhaps it was shining gold or pale yellow."

"How would you know that if you can't remem—?"

Suddenly, Melampus shot his arms forward. He grabbed her shoulders, causing her to stagger backwards into Iason. Iason grabbed one of Melapus's arms but Melampus grabbed his with blinding speed. Gripping Anastasia's shoulder with one hand and Iason's forearm with the other, Melampus threw his head back and his usual brown eyes turned a shocking pale blue. He gasped then recited in a voice that wasn't his;

_Those casted away,_

_In the prison of bronze they stay,_

_Will rise again to see the day._

_Theirs is the will of the queen,_

_By eyes of all is it unseen,_

_Through her, the power of the gods demean._

_First, the escaped shall cozen,_

_Rider and chariot of golden,_

_Then Earth and Olympus shall darken._

_Combine the weapons three,_

_Of the sky, earth, and sea_

_To set the champions free._

_A girl of death;_

_A boy of stealth;_

_Another of large breath;_

_Together they must seek_

_The weapons now weak,_

_Words of power they will speak._

_A blade, forger must haste,_

_From the blood of the tainted and chaste_

_Before her life is a-waste._

_Through his blood, sweat and tears,_

_The spine of his heart it sears,_

_A weapon to banish pains and fears._

_The gods rise in resurrection's name,_

_Endeavor to embrace their shame,_

_No longer are the innocent to blame._

_Darkness and Light will rise,_

_Through love's tragic sacrifice_

_Shall the power revitalize._

His voice was deeper and more powerful. His words echoed in Anastasia's mind and etched themselves into her memory. Then his eyes faded back to its natural brown. Melampus released Anastasia and Iason. He had a coughing fit before he cleared his throat.

"What on earth is the matter with you two all of the sudden?" Melamous exclaimed after seeing his friends' expressions. "You two look as if you've seen the spirits of the dead walking among us!"

Anastasia and Iason hadn't moved since Melampus grabbed them. Anastasia felt the warmth from her body flee as Melampus spoke. She could feel Iason's heart beating rapidly against his chest on the back of her head. What did it all mean? What did he mean by the darkness and light rising? Were the gods in trouble? What is this about a blade?

"What are you two so afraid of? I didn't think my python story was that horrifying," Melampus mumbled, still confused.

Iason found his voice before Anastasia but it was raspy and ragged. "You—you just said—do you have any idea what you just said?"

"The story of how my hair turned silver because of a golden snake?" Melampus asked. "You have heard that story plenty of times, Iason, in our hunts and when you are dining with me and my uncle."

"No, not the blasted snake story!" Iason exclaimed frustratingly. "What you said right after; the queen, the weapons and the gods!"

Melampus looked at him as if he had sprouted wings out of his chest. "I haven't said a thing!" He exclaimed, his eyes fleeting between the two of them. "What are the two of you going on about?"

Anastasia staggered backwards, away from the two boys. "Nothing. Mother will be looking for me," she mumbled and raced home, leaving behind a confused Melampus and a shocked Iason. She heard Iason yell her name but she kept running. There was something in the strange voice Melampus used that instantly reminded her of the story of her grandfather. She had a feeling that Melampus was honestly confused and doesn't remember what he had said.

"Anastasia?"

She looked up and spotted her mother setting down her basket of herbs by the door.

"My dear daughter," Charis said then gasped when she saw the crestfallen look on her daughter's face. "What ails you?"

Anastasia said nothing. She walked directly to her mother and embraced her, pressing her face into her shoulder. Melampus's strange words had scared her more than she realized. Somehow, seeing one of her friends like that set to stone something that she knew for a very long time but took for granted. The words reminded her too much of Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld, when she came to her grandfather so many years ago. It made her realize that her life was shorter than she imagined; that it would end way too soon. Of course she knew this but the realization hit her when Melampus's voice changed. Tears stung at her eyes but she kept it in. Instead, she focused on her mother's warmth; on her mother's fingers that ran through her hair; on her mother's voice softly murmuring words of comfort.

* * *

Otis trudged back to his home. The sun had set when he finished helping the fishermen store their nets and boats by the docks. It had been an uneventful day after their hunting trip in the morning. Otis prided himself in tracking animals and being able to know whether any were nearby, especially large ones. He was almost as surprised as Iason was when that deer appeared out of nowhere and carried him off. There had been a second of silence and shock between him, Melampus and Sotarios before any of them reacted. Then they were chasing after the deer. But that second was enough for the animal to disappear with their friend.

Otis froze. Even through his years of tracking, it was still difficult to find the trail of the deer, as if it didn't have one. It was by sheer luck that they found Iason. The three of them had stopped running to ease their panting. Once they did that, they heard Iason screaming something but couldn't understand him.

When they found him, he was holding a peculiar looking arrow of black and gold. Iason had said he found it and was knocked out but the shock on his face told Otis otherwise. Otis picked up his pace as his home came into view. Exactly what had happened to Iason that had shaken him up so much?

Otis reached for the front door but jumped back as it swung open. Sotarios stared at him wide-eyed. "Otis! I hope I did not hit you with the door."

"No, you didn't. What brings you to my home, Sotarios?"

Sotarios flushed and glanced over his shoulder. "I—um…"

"Brother!" Roxanne glided towards them, hooked arms with Sotarios and smiled at Otis. Otis raised an eyebrow. Sotarios avoided his gaze. "Welcome home. Mother and Niome are preparing dinner." She dropped her voice. "I hope you and father have something planned for Anastasia's birthday tomorrow. She's been down lately."

"Well, it is her birthday tomorrow," Otis sighed. "Her birthday means something different to her than ours would mean to us." Otis didn't explain; he didn't have to. It was clear on their faces that they knew what he meant—to Anastasia, a birthday means another year closer to her end. Otis often despaired that there was nothing he could do to help her. He was her older brother and she looked up to him with such respect and affection that it pained him to know that she would not be allowed to live a life at all. All because of their grandfather.

Sotarios cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Mother will be searching for me. I'll just be on my way."

He moved to step around Otis but Otis blocked his way. "You never answered my question as to what brought you here." Otis had said it in a friendly matter but it only made Sotarios all the more nervous.

But it was Roxanne who answered him. "He proposed to me."

Otis' jaw dropped. He stared at his sister and friend who shifted nervously before him. "And what did my sister say?"

The smiles that dominated their faces answered him. Otis let out a whoop of laughter and embraced the two of them. "Congratulations dear sister! And you, Sotarios, a brother of the hunt, I congratulate you and welcome you to the family."

"Speaking of family," Chairs said, coming out of the kitchen, "Sotarios, as much as I would love you to stay and have dinner with us, your mother is waiting for you."

"Yes, of course, Lady Charis," Sotarios said with a bow. Otis stifled a grin at his friend's manners that only appeared around their mother and father—now he knew why. Sotarios kissed Roxanne's hand, nodded to Otis and Charis then made his way home.

"Roxanne, come help me with dinner. Otis," Charis sighed, suddenly looking older with her graying hair and wrinkling skin, "could you get your sister, Anastasia? She seems shaken and sadder than usual. I tried talking to her but she won't say anything. You're the one who can usually ease her."

Otis nodded, instantly concerned, and went to his sisters' room. He heard a loud crash from his parent's room, down the hall from the kitchen, followed by swearing. For a man who worked with such finesse within the tight spaces of a blacksmith shop, his father was infamously clumsy. His room was upstairs near his sister's. He found Anastasia huddled in her hammock with her back facing the door. "Anastasia?"

His sister grumbled something but didn't move.

"Anastasia? What is it?" Otis slowly approached her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. She flinched but did nothing to push him away. She said nothing still.

"Roxanne said yes to Sotarios's proposal." Otis attempted to get her interest but it didn't seem to work. "But you already knew that since you have been home much longer than I have."

He sat on the hammock, his back against hers. It swayed lightly but held. They had tested each of the hammocks when their father first put them up. Each of the hammocks could hold up their whole family. "Did you know that Iason was kidnapped by a deer during the hunt?"

That statement received a reaction from Anastasia. He felt her twist around on the hammock to face him. "Kidnapped by a deer?"

Otis studied her. It was the eve of her sixteenth birthday but she did not look as if she was anywhere near the mood of celebration with her bloodshot eyes, paler than usual skin and wild hair that escaped her usual braid. Anastasia grew up with the pitying eyes of their village—as if they were sorry she was born, which they were. Everyone knew of the curse. Though Anastasia didn't know it, the farmers of their village have been having poor harvest since Anastasia's birth. They rumored that it was the curse of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld as well as the goddess of agriculture. Otis knew that they would be more than happy to finally obtain plentiful harvests after his sister's death. And it frustrated him.

"A deer," he assured. "It came out of nowhere and took Iason on its great antlers. It took us about fifteen minutes to find him. He screamed about something but we couldn't understand. When we found him, he was alone and was holding this black and gold arrow."

The hammock swayed as Anastasia pulled herself in a sitting position. "He seemed strangely quiet today when we went to see the storyteller. I asked him about the hunt but he said nothing about it."

"It might be because of the deer," Otis chuckled. "How were the stories of the story teller?"

A weak smile appeared tugged at her lips. "He told myths of the gods—of the birth of Apollo and Artemis; of the birth of the Titans and the gods. They were wonderful."

"It doesn't seem to have struck you as wonderful." As soon as he said those words, Anastasia's crestfallen expression returned. Otis immediately regretted his words but he needed to get Anastasia to talk. "This isn't your usual attitude to your birthday. Tell me, what has happened?"

Anastasia sighed heavily and scooted next to him. She leaned on his shoulder and he wrapped and arm around her shoulders. "Well, besides the realization that I only have two years to live," Anastasia sniffled—Otis felt his heart cringe violently. As an elder brother, there was nothing more he wanted to do than protect his little sister from the world, but what can he do against a goddess's curse? "Melampus acted strange today."

"Melampus?"

"Yes, he found Iason and me in the audience of the story teller. Melampus wouldn't stop talking and aggravated the audience so we left."

Otis chuckled. "That definitely sounds like him. But you left in the middle of a story?"

"It was the creation of the gods—Rhea hiding baby Zeus and his return to destroy Cronos and free his brothers. Father has told us that story countless times. I felt no need to hear once more. He wanted to go see Sotarios and Roxanne—to see how happy they were after Sotarios proposed. As we walked back he talked about how a talking python turned his hair silver then—"

Anastasia began to tremble. Otis hugged her tighter and murmured for her to continue.

"There was a moment when Melampus seemed _different_—as if he were another person. He spoke in voice that was not his, all the while gripping my shoulder and Iason's arm. What he said—oh, how it scared me to the bone, brother. It reminded me of the story of Persephone's visit to our grandfather."

"What did he say?"

Anastasia told him. Otis was speechless.

"Otis! Anastasia! Dinner!" their mother called from the kitchen.

Anastasia flinched at the sound but Otis's brotherly instincts told him to comfort her first. "Anastasia, listen to me. We will worry about Melampus's words another time. Right now, let us have dinner and celebrate your birthday tomorrow. I'll talk to Iason about it and see what he has to say. We will deal with this the day after tomorrow so don't tell anyone else about this. Alright?"

His sister nodded and numbly trudged to the kitchen. Otis stared at her and after she disappeared behind the door, then sat down heavily on the hammock. He has heard stories from fishermen and other hunters as well as friends of his father's. What Melampus said sounded much like a prophecy. And from the stories he has heard, nothing good usually happens to those in the prophecy. He hoped that Anastasia would not be involved but the fact that she was one of the first to have heard of it had shot his hopes down.

Otis took a deep breath and prepared himself to have dinner with his family. When he turned into the kitchen, he realized they had a guest; Persephone herself.


End file.
